


Without Return

by carverhawkes



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward First Times, Awkward Flirting, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Grey Wardens, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-10 08:22:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11687766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carverhawkes/pseuds/carverhawkes
Summary: In which an elf answers a calling that was never truly hers, saves the world, and in the process, realises that even in the Blight, that it is humans that are the true threat.





	1. Prologue

She still remembers the day the Templars came.

They were great, bulky strangers; three times the size of her. Over the years, their faces have become distorted memories. All she can remember is one of them had a long, salt-and-pepper beard. This was the one that had held her down as she thrashed beneath him, clamping a hand over her mouth as she cried out for help.

She remembers their low murmurs, underneath their winged helmets. She remembers going limp in their arms, having lost the ability to resist.

After that, it becomes hazy. She remembers being carried away in the opposite direction of her clan. Really, it was her own fault for wandering off. She had only meant to go a few hundred yards away, but had accidentally strayed much further. Perhaps half a mile, or more.

She remembers sobbing, her body wracking painfully as she wailed and clawed at the Templars bulky breastplate. His grip on her had only tightened, gauntleted fingers digging harshly into her skin.

She remembers the hot, searing fear coursing through her as she thought about her mother searching the forest for her whereabouts. How long would it take for her clan to realise she was gone forever? Just how long would they look for her? The thought of her mother not being able to find her only made her sob harder.

The Templars were merciful. They didn't defile her, nor hurt her. She had heard the stories of Templars snatching innocent Dalish girls from their clans and doing all sorts of terrible things. She was lucky. They didn't talk to her, or even really acknowledge her presence. She may have been carried in their arms, but other than that, they didn't notice her.

The female Templar offered her a tunic to sleep in that night as they camped. She had trembled, her knock-knees quivering in fear. But reluctantly, she had slipped the garment on over her blouse; which had become sullied and ripped in the struggle of the capture. The Templar sat beside her in front of the fire, offering her food. But she hadn't taken it. She was too terrified. She wholly expected them to have poisoned the food.

Now, if she strains hard enough, she can picture the dying embers of the campfire and feel a hand rest upon her shoulder, telling her it's time for bed.

And if she focuses harder, she can feel the rocking motion of the rickety boat that took them across Lake Calenhad the following morning.

She doesn't need to remember the terror she felt as she stared up at the great, looming stone needle of a tower. That is something she'll never forget. Just reminiscing on it causes her chest to constrict and her pulse to quicken.

She remembers her bare feet tentatively walking across the cold, damp stone of the tower entrance. She remembers the burning of her skin as the eyes of over a dozen Templars landed on her. She remembers how every nerve in her body trembled in fear as she stood in front of the Knight-Commander, who looked down at her with an expression of disdain. Eyes roaming over her dirt-encrusted face and shabby clothing.

The last thing she remembers is the slamming of the heavy wooden doors, and the final remnants of her freedom slipping through her fingers.

***


	2. The Apprentice

Latharia wakes up with a jolt, gasping for air. Her forehead is damp with sweat, and her curls stick to her cheeks. For a few seconds, she's disorientated. At first, she thinks she's back in her clan, all those twelve years ago. Of course the memories are hazy. The thing Latharia remembers with the most clarity is her mother singing her Dalish nursery rhymes as she stroked her face. So much has happened to her since then, that memories of her childhood are almost forgotten. The Circle is all she's ever known, for as long as she can truly remember.

Her heart hammers painfully against her ribcage as she remembers. Last night, in the dead of night, she was roused from her sleep by one of the Templars and Enchanter's. They had each taken one of her elbows and dragged her to the top floor of the tower, to the Harrowing Chamber. This had been mortifying and completely unexpected, as the apprentices were never told when their Harrowings were coming. All Latharia knew was that it was just about time for hers, as she had heard the Templars mumbling it in the corridors.

Latharia's pupils adjust to the light, sensitive and sore. A figure looms over her, and as her vision sharpens, she realises this is Jowan. Her fellow apprentice and somewhat her friend. His pallored face swims before her, completely overbearing. She scoots further up her bunk, breathing heavily as she tries to collect her thoughts.

She can barely remember her Harrowing. She knows she took a sip of lyrium to enter the Fade, where she encountered a demon. Rage, if she recalls correctly. She can still feel the scorching of her skin as the demon touched her arm. Looking down, she sees a strange black mark that has spread from her wrist to her elbow. Her suspicions are confirmed.

Latharia blinks up at Jowan who is slowly backing away from her bunk. She somehow finds the strength to swing her legs over the side. Her body feels weakened by her endeavours in the Fade. It is no easy feat fighting a demon. But somehow, it wasn't as hard as she had expected either. Or, maybe she thinks this simply because she can't properly remember.

"I'm glad you're alright," Jowan breathes. "They carried you in this morning. I didn't even realise you'd been gone all night."

Latharia rubs her arm, avoiding Jowan's penetrating eyes. He is far too inquisitive for his own good. She wonders how long it will be before he gets himself in trouble for it.

"I've heard about apprentices who never come back from Harrowings. Is it really that dangerous? What was it like?" Jowan probes, as Latharia pushes herself off her bed. Her legs wobble slightly, but other than that she's fairly sturdy. It's nothing a good meal and a sip of lyrium won't fix.

"It was a test of my abilities," she replies, her voice soft and quiet. She naturally speaks in this tone. "I was sent to the Fade."

"The Fade?" he repeats, his face scrunching up. "Is that it?" he sounds doubtful, but Latharia nods, collecting her curls  and throwing them over her shoulder. "And now you get to move up to the mage's quarters upstairs," he tells her. There is a bitter undertone to his voice. "I hope I get there some day."

He is worried about his Harrowing, of course he is. Latharia was too. But Jowan is more worried about becoming Tranquil, and she has to assure him that it's ridiculous. He will probably be next to go through the Harrowing. She is certain of it.

Latharia is told by Jowan that she must report to First Enchanter Irving's office. She wishes there is something more she can do for Jowan, but she can't make the Templars and Enchanter's schedule his Harrowing. They wouldn't consider making him Tranquil... would they? No. Jowan is a talented mage as far as she's concerned. They wouldn't simply waste talent, not even the Templars were that thoughtless.

Latharia has only been to First Enchanter Irving's office a handful of times before. Once when she was first admitted to the Circle. She had stood snivelling on the opposite side of his desk, refusing to make eye contact. She was mortally embarrassed, as the Templars had bathed her and shaved her hair to a crop only an hour prior. Without her hair she felt bare and exposed. It had taken her years to grow her hair how she wanted, and the Templars had hacked it off without a second thought.

The second time she had been sent to his office was when he wanted to congratulate her. Her tutor had told him how well Latharia was coming along with her lessons, and what talent she showcased for Creation magic. This was the day Latharia started her schooling to become a healer, which she excelled in. She flourished under the watchful eye of the Templars and Enchanters.

The third time, however, Latharia is at a loss to. Perhaps he is simply calling her to congratulate her on surviving her Harrowing. Yes, that must be it.

Latharia knocks cautiously on his door. Made of thick, impenetrable wood, it was perhaps the heaviest door in the Tower- in all of  _Ferelden_. Latharia wonders where the Fereldans love of wood comes from. Maybe they love it because there's such an abundance of it.

"Come in!" Irving calls from behind the door, his voice reedy and strained. This is an indication he's under pressure. Latharia frowns as she pushes it open (which takes more strength than she'd care to admit.) Irving doesn't sound happy. Is it because of her?

Latharia steps into the threshold, and at once she feels the tense atmosphere weigh down on her narrow shoulders. The air is thick with expectation. Knight-Commander Greagoir stands in front of Irving with a stony expression, gesticulating something with his hands. It takes a second for the elf to realise that they are accompanied by someone else in the room, whom she doesn't recognise. He's bulkier than Irving, but not as tall. His skin is dark, not unlike hers. The main thing Latharia notices about the stranger is the two, gleaming daggers strapped to the back of his leather armour.

Upon hearing the door open, the man turns around. Broad nose, thick features; perhaps he's from Antiva? Latharia hasn't visited or seen anyone from Antiva before, but she's read enough about the strange, foreign land and their foreign features.

Latharia looks up at Irving for some kind of explanation, but the wizened mage ignores her imploring gaze. In fact, Latharia thinks he's going out of his way to overlook her. Clearly the dark man is of much more importance than she.

"It looks like there is someone here to see you Irving," the man says. His accent is nothing untoward, sounding quite Ferelden. This makes Latharia even more curious. Finally, Irving drags his eyes away from Greagoir and his face strains into something of a smile.

"Our newest sister in the Circle," he says, giving a smile.

The dark man steps forward, surveying her with one of his thick eyebrows arched. "This is...?" his voice trails off uncertainly. Clearly, he is looking at Latharia and noticing her frame- not unlike a child's. Where the other girls have curves, she is straight. And where the other girls protrude and round, she is flat. She is spindly and gives the appearance she is weak, but both her and Irving know she harbours a lot of power for someone her age. The elf just blinks at the two of them in confusion.

"This is her, yes," Irving confirms.

"You're obviously busy," Greagoir says coldly. "We'll speak later." The First Enchanter barely notices the Knight-Commander slipping past them, muttering darkly under his breath. Latharia tries to catch what he's saying as he disappears, but to no avail. The remaining men in the room are too busy looking at her, and glancing between one another to realise the Knight-Commander has gone.

"This is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens," Irving motions a hand toward the dark man. "You've heard of the war brewing to the South, I expect. Duncan is recruiting mages to join the King's army at Ostagar."

"I see," Latharia says quietly, not seeing why this has anything to do with her. "Jowan said you wanted to speak to me, First Enchanter. Was this why?"

"I intended to congratulate you on becoming a member of the Circle," Irving tells her, shuffling over to his desk and picking up a parcel wrapped in brown paper, tied with thin twine. "Your Circle robes. Wear them with pride, Latharia." She nods, taking the parcel in her own hands. They are much more heavy than her current Apprentice robes. Obviously they won't be as decadent as Irving's or Wynne's, but it will still be nice to wear something better than the raggedy robes she has been wearing for almost a decade. She has never grown into them.

Outside of Irving's office, a Templar flanks the door. At first, Latharia wonders if it is Gregoir lingering around to eavesdrop, then realises that it's the young man she's seen frequently in the halls. Cullen, she thinks. He is blustering and unsteady on his feet, like a newborn fawn. She doesn't know how he managed to worm his way into the Templar ranks, but unlike the rest of them, he seems harmless enough. If not a little awkward.

"Move along, Latharia," he grumbles, arms crossed his chest defiantly. Somehow, his command holds no resolve. No one takes him particularly serious in the Circle. They have all been here longer than he has, and know far more about how things work.

Latharia tilts her head up to look at him, Cullen being considerably taller. At least a head, or maybe even two. "Hello, Cullen," she greets him politely, subtly alerting him she isn't up to anything untoward.

She has heard whispers- rumours- that the young Templar has taken quite the liking to her. Latharia is uncertain whether it's just a joke in the Apprentice dormitory, or whether their taunting words are true. Latharia reckons Cullen flushes whenever someone talks to him, especially a woman. But he is turning an impressive shade of beetroot right now. Despite being softly-spoken and serious, Latharia does have a sense of humour buried somewhere within her. And sometimes takes pleasure in teasing and toying.

"I-I'm... uh, glad to see y-your Harrowing went smoothly," Cullen says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Latharia tries to suppress her giggles. There is little pleasures in the Circle, so she must seize opportunities of entertainment whenever she can.

"Is something the matter, Ser?" she asks innocently. "You're stuttering an awful lot."

That does it. The poor man turns so scarlet he's like a blinding beacon. His eyes go wide, and Latharia can easily see the whites of them. Maybe later she will feel cruel for teasing him.

"I'm not!" he argues quickly. "I-I'm just glad to... see you're all right."

Latharia gives him a genuine smile. Somehow she finds herself believing him. "Would you have really struck me down?" she inquires. She humours herself asking him this; more out of curiosity than for comedic value.

Instantaneously, Cullen's expressions gravens. "I would have felt terrible about it..." his eyes train to the stone floor, and Latharia watches him carefully. She looks for the twitch of his lips in laughter, or a glint of amusement in his eyes- like the rest of the Templars. But no. He seems deadly serious about feeling guilty, unlike the others. "But... but I serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I'm commanded."

Out of the corner of her eye, Latharia sees one of her friends- Elissa Amell. The noble girl smirks when she sees the elf and Templar alone in the corridor, and raises her eyebrows at them as she breezes past. Cullen would have reprimanded her if he wasn't so strangled with embarrassment. They both hear Elissa snicker.

"Perhaps we could go somewhere more private to discuss this?" Latharia asks softly, almost cracking up at Cullen's mortified expression. His jaw physically drops and his eyes bulge at her suggestion.

"Oh, my goodness," Cullen flushes, his eyes darting down the corridor to check if anyone is present. Fortunately for him, the floor is quite abandoned. "If you're saying... what I think... that would be really... inappropriate. And I-I couldn't. I-I should go," he stutters, before darting off in the opposite direction of Elissa. For a few seconds, Latharia stands and allows herself to freely giggle into her palm. Really, he makes it far too easy to for people to walk over him. In a way, Latharia rather pities him. She might be a non-confrontational soul herself, but can be resolute and steely if needs be.

The elf goes back to the apprentice dorms, robes in hand, wondering what her new quarters will be like.

***

Later in the day, dressed in her new robes, Latharia goes to return a book to the library. This is the place she frequents the most, even more so than her dormitory. Some days, she is there from sunrise to nightfall, having to be told by the Templars to go to bed. Most days, she goes there to read in peace. The only regulars in the library are a few decrepit Enchanters who can't tell their arse from their elbows, and a few apprentices whom are usually too scared to go anywhere else.

Anders, as usual, is in the quietest corner of the library, his narrow nose buried deep in a dusty tome. Most people tend to purposefully ignore him, frightened that they'll invoke the Templars wrath if they're seen cavorting with him. Most of the Templars expect them to be part of an exodus conspiracy. Which is why Latharia is given wary glances by the two Templars flanking the library entrance. All of the soldiers in the Tower know Latharia is harmless. Not once in her twelve years of being has she broken a single Circle rule, unlike her friend.

Anders is so immersed in reading he doesn't notice Latharia quietly sliding beside him. Inquisitively, she peeks over his shoulder to see what he's reading, which finally startles him. He jumps, snapping the book shut heavily, garnering a suspicious glare from the Templars.

"You made me jump," Anders grumbles, tucking a stringy piece of hair behind his pierced ear. Latharia was the one who had pierced it, armed with a needle and healing spells. He had always claimed it hadn't hurt, but he'd been pale and shaking for days afterwards.

"What're you reading?" the elf asks interestedly. She knows Anders pursues spirit healing along with a select few in the Circle, tutored by Wynne. From what Latharia can understand, it all seems rather fiddly and complicated. She's glad she doesn't have to go through all the trouble of summoning a spirit to heal someone.

"You wouldn't be interested," the lanky boy says immediately, heat going straight to the tips of his ears. Latharia frowns, but refuses to press the matter. "So," he says eventually, his voice breaking slightly with tension. "It was your Harrowing last night, right?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

Anders jerks a thumb in the direction of the Templars. "I heard them talking about it earlier. Said you were the quickest Harrowing they'd ever seen. What was it like, then?"

Latharia vaguely explains the trials she was put through in the Fade; telling him about the Spirit of Valor who she'd tricked a stave from, and the Rage demon that had swelled from the ground. She tactfully leaves out the sly spirit who had almost hoodwinked her, too embarrassed to admit to her naivety. But the way Anders is looking at her- as if in sympathy- he probably knows, and experienced a similar thing himself.

"And now you're rewarded with nice new robes," Anders says, flicking the oversized sleeve of her Circle robes. "I hope all those years and the Harrowing was worth the hassle."

Latharia smiles, not really in the mood to sit through one of Anders' harangues about the cruelty and egregious nature of the Circle. Latharia, unlike the other mages, is quite content. Obviously if given the choice she would rather have freedom, but she does not possess a burning hatred for the Tower or the Templars like the rest of her associates.

Silence settles over the two friends as they study in silence. Latharia has picked up a book about the Qunari, from one of the long-forgotten shelves right in the corner. She doubts whether the Templars would approve of such findings, but she's far too fascinated to part with the book. For the afternoon, she's immersed in the land of Par Vollen and  _Bas Saarebas_ , forgetting her own surroundings. Only when someone pokes her shoulder does she look up. Instead of Anders, it is Jowan who stands over her, looking pale. He rings his hands tersely, and Latharia can see sweat forming on his crown. Anders looks up too in interest, and Jowan pointedly turns his back to the spirit healer.

"Latharia," his voice is strained. "May I have a word?" Slowly, the elf nods and closes her book. Tucking it under her armpit and patting Anders' on the shoulder, she leaves. The Templars eye them warily, but say nothing. They are not permitted to take action unless they truly think something suspicious is afoot. Latharia is amazed Jowan's cagey expression went amiss.

They trail down the corridors- Jowan ducks into the shadows whenever someone passes, causing Latharia to eye him with uncertainty. Now she thinks about it, her friend has been acting a bit oddly these past couple of weeks. Nothing untoward has happened to him, she thinks. He's met a girl somewhere in the Tower, but that's about it. He's never divulged any information about her, and Latharia has never thought to ask. 

Jowan takes her down to the makeshift chapel, which is thankfully empty. Loony Louise is in the corner praying, her head bent so far forward she touches the stone- whispering about how she is an abomination. No Templars are here worshipping, but they never really do come often. Only a few very devout ones pray everyday, other than that they only attend their Services once every week. 

Tucked away in the corner is Jowan's lover. She is stocky, fair-skinned and red-haired. The only giveaway she isn't a mage is that she wears the Chantry robes. Jowan introduces her as Lily, and Latharia politely takes her hand and tells her she's pleased to meet her. Then it comes. 

"They're going to make me Tranquil!" Jowan exclaims, at the end of his explanation. "They'll take everything that I am from me- my dreams, hopes, fears- my love for Lily. All gone!"

"Just calm down, Jowan," Latharia says gently. "You don't know this for certain, do you?"

"I saw the letter in Irving's office," Jowan says bitterly. "There's a rumour about me... people think I'm a blood mage." 

Lily recoils just at the use of the term, squeezing her lover's hand consolingly. Jowan looks so utterly despairing that Latharia feels her gut squeeze guiltily. If Irving has decided that Jowan is to become Tranquil then it won't be without reason. Would Jowan really go to the extent of forbidden magic? Latharia truly doesn't know. 

"Are you?" the elf asks delicately. 

Jowan looks affronted. "No!" he protests crossly. "I wouldn't endanger Lily like that! It's not safe for me here anymore." He leans forward, lowering his voice so only the elf can hear him, even though there's no one else in the chapel. Latharia notices Lily teeters forward too, even though Latharia guesses she already knows what Jowan is about to propose. "I need to escape. I need to destroy my phylactery. Without it, they can't track me down. We need your help, we can't do this on our own."

"Give us your word you will help," Lily demands. 

Latharia shakes her head. "You can't ask this of me, Jowan. We could get in so much trouble." 

"Please!" Jowan begs. "I would do the same for you, would I not? I ask only a small favour, and then you can leave us to our own devices. I promise." The elf wavers, but eventually acquiesces. 

Lily proceeds to tell Latharia she has a way of getting Jowan into the repository, but they need a way of surpassing the enchanted door. Jowan then tells Latharia of a fire rod, one he has once encountered in the stock room. Unfortunately, the Tranquil mage- Owain- wouldn't let her access such a thing. Latharia nods slowly, thinking she understands. What they're proposing is that she is to get a note of consent from one of the Enchanters, to grant her access to such a tool. And  _of course_ they are going to stay behind and let her do the dirty work. Half of Latharia is angry at them, but the other half pities the two foolish lovers. Do they truly think their great escape plan will work? Many a mage has tried to escape Kinoch Hold- Anders being one of them- and never in the years of the Circle have they ever managed it. Why does Jowan think it will be different for him? 

And more importantly;  _why is Latharia helping them_?

***

"I've got your rod," Latharia says, slipping the tool out from underneath her sleeve into Jowan's palm. "That's all I'll do for you. You're on your own now."

Jowan opens his mouth in protest, but Lily quickly clamps her hand over it. "Thank you, Latharia," she says softly, nodding gratefully. "We appreciate what you've done for us." Latharia knows this is her way of gentle admission, but for some reason the elf finds herself lingering in the chapel far longer than she should. She hangs behind the dusty bookshelf, straining her ears to listen to Jowan and Lily, but their tones are so hushed she can't hear anything. All she knows is that they're going to carry out their plan tonight, once every in the Tower is asleep. 

Latharia feels like she should tell someone. She's worried as to what lengths Jowan will go for his freedom. He never has been the most logical, stable person. His temper often gets the better of him, and stupidity frequently blinds him. Latharia just hopes Lily will keep him on the right track, but it seems the Chantry initiate is a bigger fool than he. 

The elf finally turns her back on them, deciding that this is Jowan's fate to determine; not hers.  

***


	3. The Recruitment

The Circle dormitory is much nicer than the Apprentice one. The beds are much softer, and marginally bigger too. There's more space to put your belongings, and more privacy. Bookshelves, as high as the ceiling, partition each bed. There are three to four mages in each dormitory, which gives more illusion of space. Latharia actually feels rather lonely that night in bed without the usual cacophony of breathing and snoring she's used to in the Apprentice dorms. The three other mages she's sharing with: Anders, a timid boy called Joffrey, and Elissa, are all very quiet sleepers. She barely hears a peep out of Anders, whose bed is on the opposite side of the bookshelf. She wonders if he is actually asleep, or if he's reading by magelight. Latharia realises that now out of the Apprentice dorms, she could do this too. But somehow, she can't find summon herself to do it. It isn't so much the threat of Templars, it's how wrong-footed she feels in this new environment, and how solitary the whole situation is. She cannot believe once she was dying to get out of the Apprentice dorms, thinking she'd outgrown it. It seems she was wrong.

What keeps her awake tonight is Jowan's exodus. Knowing he's prowling around the Tower, stumbling in the basement for his phylactery makes Latharia's blood run cold. Who knows what could happen to him? Not only are there protective wards and guardians in the chambers- but there is also the punishment the Templars will give him if he's caught. He is guaranteed to become Tranquil if they catch him. Latharia doesn't know if she could live with herself if this was the case, knowing she could've stopped it.

This is what propels her to swing her legs out of bed and shrug on her old Apprentice robes. Although they are much more moth-eaten, they are less inconspicuous. Their dull, dark colours will help Latharia conceal herself in the shadows if needs be. Determinedly, she ties her hair up and slips out of the dormitory without waking up her roommates.

As she skulks down the corridor, her whole body succumbs to shivers and gooseflesh. She has never broken a Circle rule before, and feels wrong in doing so. This isn't her at all. She wants nothing more to turn back and burrow into her new bed and wait for Jowan's fate, but can't bring herself to do it. Perhaps if she's there, and can explain to the Templars, then Jowan's punishment will be more fair? Or maybe she can take the blame herself. Because it's her first offence, she doubts they'd be harsh with her.

Latharia manages to get down to the first floor without being detected. The dozy Templar guarding the staircase has fallen asleep on the job- his head lolling against his shoulder comically, as a trail of drool trickles out the corner of his mouth. Latharia pities him for when Knight-Commander Greagoir will eventually find him. Especially if Jowan is successful in his efforts.

It's lucky the noise from the Apprentice dorm covers Latharia's tracks. The rumble of snores and occasional giggle from the giddy mages conceals her footsteps. She wonders if they're talking about her? Probably not. Only a few mages in there knew who she was properly. She suspects her bed will already have been filled by someone new.

Cautiously, she approaches the basement door, terrified that if she even touches it she'll be repelled by a ward. Have Jowan and Lily even made it this far, or was their escape just idle fantasy? Or was Jowan trying to get Latharia into bother? No. She eschews the thought firmly. Jowan has no reason to do such a thing. But as she lingers around the basement door, straining her ears, it does seem quite likely.

There's a hairy moment when two Templars stroll past on their nightly patrols. They stop right near the basement stairs, cocking their heads. Latharia is amazed they don't hear her heart pounding, but amazingly they shrug it off and continue their duties. Latharia has to physically wipe the sweat off her face.

She hangs around for about an hour. Or maybe longer. Time eludes her as she's crouched in the dark. All she knows that if Jowan doesn't appear soon, he's on his own.

Suddenly, she hears the clanking of heavy plated armour and raised voices. Footfall chimes and reverberates the whole tower. Latharia plasters herself against the stone wall in fear, watching with wide eyes as Greagoir, Irving, Duncan and three Templars come thundering in.

"You!" Greagoir roars, lunging for her. Latharia squeaks and ducks out of the way, as his gauntlets close over thin air. She doesn't know where to run. Can she even escape this situation? The Templars have drawn their swords, and she can feel the heavy Smite in the air. They're ready to pounce on her at a moments notice, so hegira is futile. With a sigh, she holds her hands up in defeat and lets Greagoir grasp her shoulders and shake her so hard her bones rattle.

"Where is the maleficar?" he demands. "Are you one too?"

"Greagoir," Irving steps forward finally, his voice steely. "Rest assured, she is not."

The Knight-Commander wheels around, livid. "How do you know, you old fool?" he shouts. "You let this one slip through your hands!"

Latharia only notices then that one of the Templars is Cullen. He looks uneasy, the sharp blade pointed directly at her. She catches his eyes only momentarily, and he quickly averts his gaze. Does she expect him to fight her corner? If she is indeed a blood mage, he cannot allow his desires to get in the way of stamping her out.

"Who's the blood mage you're talking about?" Latharia asks, her voice quivering. "Jowan?"

"Yes, you insolent girl," Greagoir snaps. "But you knew all along, didn't you?" All sets of six eyes land on her accusingly. She swallows, attempts to open her mouth to speak, but snaps it shut again. They must be mistaken. Not Jowan. He'd promised her he wasn't doing anything forbidden. "Tell me what he's planning, and I'll be lenient with you."

"He's trying to escape," Latharia says softly, clutching her hands to her chest. "He wants to find his phylactery."

"Latharia, do you promise you're not involved? Has he meddled with your mind?" Irving looks serious.

"Meddled with my mind?" she repeats, confused at first. And then remembers what blood mages do. Is it possible Jowan has influenced her? Is that why she felt so drawn to help him tonight? Latharia shakes her head. Surely she'd be able to tell if she was under the influence of blood magic. She doesn't feel estranged at all. "He hasn't, First Enchanter. You have my word."

Greagoir scoffs, like he doesn't believe her. But thankfully Irving does. The Knight-Commander is about to argue when the basement door is thrown open. Nobody misses the triumphant look on Jowan's face as he emerges with Lily, hand in hand. His face promptly drops when he sees what's waiting for him. He takes steps to back away, throwing his arm in front of Lily to protect her. The colour has drained from both of their faces.

"I can explain!" Lily blurts.

"An initiate consorting with a blood mage," Greagoir says coldly. "I'm disappointed in you, Lily." He walks towards her, grabbing her chin firmly in his hand. He tilts her head this way and that, inspecting her eyes. "She seems shocked, but fully in control of her mind. Not a thrall of a blood mage then. The initiate has betrayed us. The Chantry will not let this go unpunished."

Latharia keeps her mouth clamped shut. Lily looks at her with desperate eyes, but she refuses to let herself become entangled in this.

"I'm disappointed in you, Jowan," Irving says gravely. "You could have told me you knew of this plan. And you didn't."

"You don't care for the mages!" Jowan says aggressively. "You just bow to the Chantry's every whim."

"Enough!" Greagoir booms. "As Knight-Commander of the Templars assembled: I hereby sentence this blood mage to death."

Latharia gasps, her hands flying over her mouth. The Templars move forward to arrest Lily as she stutters hopelessly. She sees Jowan tense, and reach for something underneath his sleeve. Her eyes widen and she lunges forward to stop him.

The dagger gleams in his hand, but she is too late. He has already sunk it into the nearest Templars neck. As the blood spurts, there is a sudden crescendo of mana in the air. They were right about Jowan. He  _is_  a maleficar.

Latharia staggers backwards, the acrid smell of blood magic choking her. The Templars are preparing their Smite, but as Jowan draws the dagger back and sinks it into his hand, they are all knocked off their feet. Latharia is thrown against the stone column. Her head cracks harshly as tears spring to her eyes. She lays winded, and through half-lids she sees someone moving towards her. She coughs helplessly, feeling smothered by the throbbing magic and Smite. Her magic is weakened, so she has no real means of defending herself.

She is lifted up by her throat. Jowan's face consumes her. "You told them!" he shouts, the dagger dancing in his hand.

"You left me no choice," she chokes, helplessly thrashing. Like how she did when the Templars came for her all those years ago...

"Then you can understand why I had no choice," he says darkly. He raises the dagger up, but Latharia quickly casts a barrier around herself. The blade slips off her shield uselessly. In the time Jowan falters, it gives her enough time to collect herself and summon all the mana she can manage.

"They were going to make me Tranquil. And you were going to let them!" he screams, lunging forward again.

 _I wasn't_ , she protests silently.  _I was going to protect you_.  _I was on your side_.

In their scuffle, Jowan manages to slice Latharia's bare arm. This summons enough magic for him to blast her backward again. She seems to be the only one resisting the blood magic. The Templars and Irving are laid out cold on the floor. She doesn't know how long she can fend Jowan off until more Templars come. But what if they don't? Surely someone in the Tower must have heard the ruckus. Someone has to be coming to save her. They have to...

The scent of hot blood overcomes Latharia's senses. With every last ounce of strength, she holds her arm up and feels the hot mana coursing up her veins and travels to her fingertips. Momentarily, Jowan stops and watches in her confusion. In these few seconds, Litharia emits such a powerful blast that that Jowan is sent flying, and the stones in the wall tremble. Dust falls from the ceiling, and the columns quiver.

Latharia stands with her chest heaving as she watches Jowan writhe in pain on the floor. Sweat trickles down her temples and she limps forward to assist Irving, who's limp body was thrown in the force of the blast. She pointedly ignores Jowan, knowing that he is going to make his escape. She isn't going to stop him. He'll be lucky if he gets across Lake Calenhad. No, Jowan has already decided his fate.

With trembling hands, Latharia unfastens Irving's robes and inspects the damage. Impressive bruises are scattered across his ribcage, and one seems to be broken. Splaying her hands, she yanks her remaining mana and heals him the best she can. His rib is straightened out, and the bruises are nothing but ghosts on his papery skin. She sits back on her haunches, panting heavily. In the corner of her eye, she sees someone rousing. Duncan. The Grey Warden sits up and massages his head.

"Do you need healing?" Latharia asks in a small voice. His head snaps up, briefly looking cautious. Then he shakes his head.

"It's just a bump," he assures her. "What became of the blood mage?"

"He escaped." Duncan nods slowly, eyeing her. "No," she sighs. "I'm not a maleficar." He nods in confirmation, and gets to his feet.

"Does the First Enchanter require medical attention?"

Latharia wobbles to her feet too, and Duncan reaches out for her elbows to steady her. "I healed him the best I could. Maybe you should take him to Wynne." Duncan takes the First Enchanter and helps him to his feet, still unconscious.

"I think you should follow me," he says. "There is much to discuss."

Latharia had guessed.

***

Irving's office smells heavily of incense and must. The overwhelming aroma causes Latharia to shudder whenever she intakes a breath. The smell of her elfroot tea only makes the general stench worse. She sits opposite Irving's desk, with a blanket draped over her shoulder, sipping the tea with trembling hands. For shock, Wynne had told her as she'd brewed it for her in an old tin kettle. Latharia didn't have the heart to tell her she didn't like elfroot tea, and accepted it gratefully.

Irving, Greagoir, Duncan and Wynne stand in his office, all looking down at her with a similar expression. Latharia cannot fathom what it is. Disappointment, she reckons. Although she doesn't know  _why_. She has told them numerous times she wasn't involved in Jowan's departure. However, they don't seem to believe her.

Of course the only thing Greagoir is thinking about is a suitable punishment. A week in the cells, he think is fair. Latharia remains silent, looking down hopelessly at her murky tea. She has long since given up fighting her corner. Luckily, Irving and Duncan are there to do it for her.

"She displays incredible talent, Knight-Commander," Duncan intervenes. "Exactly the type of mage I am looking to recruit."

"She was involved with a maleficar!" Greagoir grits out for what feels like the thousandth time. "Need I remind you, Warden, that that is  _forbidden_  in the Circle."

"Your First Enchanter is resolute she was not involved in the plan," Duncan says smoothly. "As was the Chantry initiate. I believe she is quite innocent."

"It is not what you  _believe_ ," Greagoir says viciously. "You all saw her. She was waiting outside for him. Probably keeping watch!"

Wynne pats Latharia's shoulder sympathetically. "Do you have anything to say, dear?" she asks kindly. Latharia pathetically shakes her head. It seems Greagoir has already decided she's guilty. What she says won't make a difference.

"Need I get Grand Enchanter Fiona involved in this matter?" Duncan asks lightly, but the effect and weight of his words is immediate. Wynne's lips curl into a slight smirk, and Greagoir's face falls. Irving looks like he's trying to suppress a smile himself.

"There is no need, Warden-Commander," Greagoir snarls. "Irving, you can decide this reprobate's punishment."

Irving temples his hands, observing Latharia intently. She tries to meet his gaze, but it is only for a few seconds. Her eyes land on the floor again, watching it swim in her tired vision. The whole world seems to be going quite swimmy. She grips tightly onto the edges of the threadbare blanket, more of a comforting garment than anything else.

"I believe Warden-Commander Duncan had a proposition for the young lady," Irving says eventually, motioning for Duncan. The Warden steps forward, looking down at Latharia. She cranes her head up, swallowing hard.

"The Grey Wardens are looking for talented mages like yourself," he says. "You showed bravery standing up to your friend. It takes a lot of fortitude to do something like that. A quality which is valued in the Grey Wardens. So I make you an offer: I propose you come to Ostagar with me to become a Warden, and to fight with King Cailan."

Latharia just blinks aimlessly at him. His words hang in the air, and everyone awaits her response. At first, she thinks this is all some practical joke. Jowan will jump out from behind Irving's bookcase and tell her it was all an initiation to see if she was capable of becoming a Circle mage; and that this is her real Harrowing. But no one in the room shows any signs of amusement. They all look deathly serious.

"I don't know what to say," she whispers. Greagoir scoffs disdainfully, but Duncan remains patient.

"I realise it's a lot to ask of you. But I need an answer by tomorrow-"

"I'll do it," she says quietly. Duncan has to do a double take. "I want to be a Warden."

This causes Greagoir to rage again. "I cannot believe you're rewarding her behaviour!"

"Becoming a Warden is no easy feat, Knight-Commander," Duncan says seriously, narrowing his eyes at the Templar. "She might not even survive the Joining. And if she does, she is to face an army of darkspawn. Is that sufficient punishment for you?"

"Well now you put it like that," Latharia grumbles. Wynne chuckles ruefully, squeezing her shoulder.

"I suggest you rest, Latharia," Irving says, gently admonishing her. "I will let the Templars know you are to not be disturbed." The elf stands up shakily, handing Wynne her blanket back. Greagoir looks like he won't let the Templars do such a thing, so she heads back to her dorm in hopes she will get a few hours sleep. Not that she deludes herself she'll get any sleep after the night she has had.

She tries to creep in silently, but Anders is sat up in bed when she gets in. Even in the dark, she can see his face visibly relaxing when he sees her. Instead of getting into her bed, she goes to Anders'. He moves over, allowing her to crawl in with him. Really, the beds aren't large enough to be shared. But they managed in the Apprentice dorms, so they're going to manage now.

"Are you all right?" Anders asks, over the sound of Elissa's heavy breathing. "I heard you going and then there was an explosion-"

"Jowan was a blood mage," Latharia cuts him off, wanting to get it off her chest. Anders is stunned for a second. Latharia can hear him swallowing roughly.

"Is he...?" his voice trails off, but she knows what he means. It's what some mages fear so much they don't dare utter it.

"No," she shakes her head. "He managed to escape."

Anders is silent. Both of them are thinking the same thing.  _Who else in the Circle is a maleficar_?  _Can they trust each other_?

"I'm to join the Grey Wardens," Latharia whispers, a tremor evident in her voice. Anders' grip on her tightens, as she starts to tremble.

Anders remains silent, holding her close all night, saying more than words ever could. 

***


End file.
